‘And the tide …’ & Other Random Thoughts

I was writing an update at the end of last week, and there was hope to post it on Tuesday. Unfortunately, the piece was taking a turn as a rant, propelled by negative feelings and disdain toward various instances, which suddenly decided to glob together and congeal into something ugly and spits fire. Instead of forcing something, it was set on the back burner for maybe another day. But to keep up with updating each week, well, I’ll resort to my ol’ Sunday routine.


And as the tide pulls me to west, I extend my arm with a grasping hand. And after fingertips continue to graze, I give up and accept the drifting.


The guy in the gray suit, which has somewhat of a sheen to it, and that completely clashes with the plastered sheen of his matted-down, parted-on-the-right coif.

He doesn’t smile. He keeps pivoting on one foot before taking one step-by-step-by-step, and he’s slowly moving to wherever the hell the barista is bringing his coffee (but four steps or so behind). His odd walking makes the rest of the coffee shop think he has to fart or he has a stick shoved up his ass.

I prefer to think the latter, because he keeps petting his tie. Two fingers, pointer and thumb start at the top and right below the knot, and they slide down both sides of the tie. He keeps doing so, looking around and still not smiling. It’s as if he is being watched or being filmed and he wants to be.


The contemplation of incorporating plastic vending machine rings into the wedding ceremony. Might fly with some, not others. Best to tread lightly …



OK. Let’s shave, and let’s see how long it takes to grow back into a comfortable shadow. And then, the specific number of days before the wedding I won’t shave. If it doesn’t look good — clean shaven might be the right approach, and that can be decided morning-of — the stubble will have to go.


Finding a parking spot when you don’t have to. Finding new language when you have to find a parking spot.


What’s with the slowed traffic, I think. As my car edges closer to the next, it’s soon clear to see that a mother duck and her five little ones are crossing Genesee Street in Auburn.

Panic went through my head. Desire to stop the car was there, desire to step out and assist, but there was fear of scaring the animals and — sigh — tragedy. It’s not tragic in the sense that they’d get hit — the cars were very aware of the situation and, surprisingly, very patient, but there was a sickening feeling she would leave the ducklings.

People exited Hunter Dinerant, and they almost stepped into traffic. Hands covered mouths in awe. Fingers pointed.



Ghosting: The beauty of ignoring and letting a relationship fade into nothing. No Swayze, no Casper. It’s supposed to be guilt-free. But how can it be when guilty of it? Just don’t do it. Cut it, cut it out.


Of all the things to spot, a heart-shaped leaf in the middle of the road. Out of everything to pick out during a night run, a heart-shaped leaf in the middle of rolled-out lamplight. It’s slightly shredded, so being careful is necessary.

I laid it down in another spot and out of the way of traffic, in a spot I could easily remember and return to. After finishing the loop, the Heart of Nature I picked up and ran home with it.


Cliched truth: But, oh! Her eyes! She speaks softly, but her eyes shout.


The reflection of light dances, jitterbugs, in her eyes.


When perfect sleeping weather hits the snooze button for you. Waking up to a fizzy foggy haze of morning light, and there is nothing but birds whispering to each other. And there’s a cat cuddled up in between your calves.

When did I start sleeping on my stomach? It’s probably one of the best changes I’ve ever made.


I almost second-guessed and dismissed her falling: the older woman, late 70s. Amidst Thursday’s pouring rain, she took a tumble outside of Doug’s. Her husband struggled pulling her up.

I almost second-guessed helping her, but I paused the interview I was conducting, and ran over. After finding the husband in the Skaneateles restaurant, I helped him pick her up, and steady her, and we made sure she was OK. She said she was.

I almost second-guessed acting. Why? Proof that listening to my gut is a great thing.


Part Four: Chicken and waffles. Cookie Dough Pancakes. Fancy beverages. Birthday celebration. And 16 years of friendship celebration.

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